


The Peculiarities of Damnation

by EmilieTulip



Series: To Walk Alone, Beside You [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, No Beta, Sad Ending, Tragedy, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Whump, Worried Gwaine, guess ill just die, implied suicidal thoughts, merlin whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilieTulip/pseuds/EmilieTulip
Summary: Damnation was strange in that it sometimes appeared in the form of salvation, but Mordred's eyes were so pretty and he offered such a unique way to lift his spirits.Alternatively: Merlin does not cope well with Arthur's marriage. READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS PLEASE!





	The Peculiarities of Damnation

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> \- Drug addiction  
> \- Unhealthy relationship  
> \- Depression  
> \- Please don't read if you think this might trigger you

He'd moved out.

The old flat had too many memories (Arthur Arthur _Arthur_ ). He'd tried living with his uncle at first; Gaius was only an hour away, after all. It had still been too close. Arthur had been here also. Once. It was one too many times, and all Merlin could see was the fading echo of him. That and the pity in his uncle's eyes. Gaius knew what Arthur was to him, what he would never be to Arthur. He didn't like the pity. He moved further away. 

Manchester. It was colder than London, and it fit him like a glove. He wanted to be frozen like the water trapped on sheets of glass windscreens. He wanted to freeze overnight so that he never had to feel the agony, the _anguish_ of his love. Merlin wanted to be cold and unfeeling, but he was inherently connected to all things vibrant and living ( _Arthur!_ ). He could not stop the hollow pain that carved his heart inside out and left him a gaping, open wound. Arthur had never been to Manchester. Merlin still saw him everywhere.

His calls home were brief. He told his uncle that he was fine, _healing_ , but busy with work. Too busy to talk right now. If he saw through him, he didn't say. Maybe Gaius could tell that more than anything, he craved distance. (More than anything he craved Arthur.) Despite everything, he ended each phone call with _I love you_. At least he could say it to someone.

When Gwaine called he let it ring to voicemail, but shot back a text a few hours later. ( _Sorry I missed you. Very busy._ ) When Morgana called he didn't respond. He still recalled the look she had given him at the wedding. There was something curious behind her eyes, almost sympathetic. He felt pathetic. She knew too much.

Arthur hadn't yet called.

He had been back from his honeymoon for a week and a half now, not that Merlin was counting. Maybe he was expecting a call, but when didn't Arthur defy all expectations. Still, the honeymoon might be over but the prat was still likely to be googly-eyed over his new bride. He was passionate, entirely encompassed in his emotions, feeling everything so brilliantly that it set him ablaze. This was why Merlin had to leave. He couldn't bear to see him so in love. Not when it was with somebody else. If anything it was a relief that he hadn't called. This way Merlin would not have to pretend that everything was okay. It was for the best. (Merlin kept checking his phone.)

His colleagues at work thought he was antisocial. They'd tried at first, he'd give them that, but when Arthur had stolen his heart he'd also taken everything else that made him _Merlin_. He said no to drinks. He could barely leave the bed. Limbs felt weighed down and every breath pulled him deeper underwater. His curtains stayed closed. Why bother open them? The plant that had been a housewarming gift had died long ago. Everything was stagnant, festering. (Arthur still didn't call.)

Damnation was strange in that it sometimes appeared in the form of salvation. Or was it the other way around? Merlin couldn't tell if he was being saved of falling further, but he met Mordred on the break of spring in a café by his work. The young man had such pretty eyes and offered a unique way to lift his spirits. White powder and rolled bank notes. Skin on skin and music. Heavy breathing in his ear. Sweat and kisses and bruises. Love?

The curtains remained closed.

He wasn't so sure anymore. The highs became less high and the lows more common. There were times where Merlin couldn't tell if he was drowning or already gone, but Mordred told him he was soaring so everything must be fine. He was a merlin bird. He was born to fly high.

Gwaine's calls were left unanswered. 

They fired him in the beginning of August. There was something akin to pity in the manager's voice as he told him to _seek help_. Merlin gritted his teeth and left. He was done with pity. For once in his life everything was _fine_. Somebody loved him _, him_ for gods sake! He got another job. He was paid less money and even less attention. This suited him fine. Mordred moved in to share the rent. To share in his life.

He began dodging Gaius's calls too.

He and Mordred began to fight. ( _'I saw you with her, you were all over her!' 'Gods Merlin, I didn't know you'd be this clingy'_ ) He felt on edge. Shaky and paranoid. He needed more. (He needed _help!_ ) Mordred drew powdered lines on his naked chest, ran his nose down his body and pulled away, nostrils dusted in white. Merlin thought him enchanting. He taught Merlin how to do the same and they apologised with fevered kisses. The morning sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains. It painted them gold, angelic in their tragedy, and beckoned them to heed its call. Merlin got up. Closed the gap. Went back to bed.

Arthur called on a dusky afternoon in late august. The screen lit up with his picture (golden, angelic _, glorious_ ). Merlin was struck once again with the beauty of this man who he had never stopped loving. _I've always been happy._ He'd last seen Arthur through a misted taxi window, magnificent and entirely untouchable. He traced the lines of his frozen smile and let the call go to voicemail.

'Merlin,' called Mordred. 'Come back to bed.'

The picture of Arthur flickered in his mind before flashing out of existence. Merlin placed his phone upon the counter and turned meekly from the room. He was fine now. Happy, even _. Loved_. In the arms of his destruction, he didn't notice the distant light of his phone as it received one single message.

**Arthur** : Merlin. I have your address. I am coming over. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?  
> I don't even know if I can fix this . . .


End file.
